The Waiting Game
by caputdraconis14
Summary: Voldemort has fallen. The world surrounding Harry and the Weasley family is nothing like they have ever seen before. As they start to pick up the pieces around them, Harry and Ginny must address the unanswered questions between them and try to live the lives they had before. The road will not be easy. Can they wait it out, figure it out? HarryXGinny with some RonXHermione. Mature.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Quick Note. I don't own any of these characters or the world or any of the awesome stuff out of the mind of JK Rowling. That being said, this fic is not my current fanfiction priority. I have another work in progress fic, so until I finish the other one, there could be some sporadic updating going on. Enjoy it, however! **_

**Chapter 1: Later**

Fat raindrops hammered on the windows. One by one, they raced each other to the bottom, merging into a murky puddle at the bottom of the sash. Ginny pressed her forehead to the glass, letting the coolness take over her skin. She could hardly see the Burrow's garden through the blurry film left by the water on the windows. A boom of thunder echoed, shaking the house. She liked the sound, despite the grayness of the weather. It was good to have something, even the white noise of the rain, to fill her brain in the silence that had settled over the Weasley household.

It was getting late. Again. Somewhere in the house, her mother was shut up somewhere, sobbing as Percy and Charlie offered what little comfort they could. As soon as he got home, George headed up to his old bedroom, shut the door, and had not emerged since. Fleur had come to the Burrow, not to her home, but was sitting in a stoic silence on the sofa, crystal tears occasionally dripping down her pretty face. Everyone else, however, was not at the Weasley house.

The others were at the Ministry of Magic. Ron, accompanied by the two default family members, Harry and Hermione, were being blinded by flashbulbs, interviewed, revered. She could only imagine. Ginny's father and her eldest brother, Bill, were acting as advocates on behalf of the three, refusing to leave their sides.

"Why aren't zey 'ome yet?" Fleur croaked, her usually bell-like voice rough with her tears and emotions.

"I don't know," Ginny said, moving away from the window. She sat down next to her sister in law, sliding her hand into Fleur's.

There was a sound from upstairs and the two women looked up. The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused Ginny to rise as her mum emerged, drying her eyes on a handkerchief. Molly Weasley cleared her throat loudly when she saw Fleur and Ginny looking at her expectantly.

"I'm going to start dinner," she announced.

"I will 'elp you," Fleur declared, following her mother-in-law into the kitchen. Ginny watched the two of them walk away, crossing her arms over her chest. A small part of her wanted to go help them, just to have something to do, despite being rubbish at cooking. The rest of her won, leaving her standing in the sitting room, staring at nothing. The decision was to wait. What she was waiting for, even she didn't quite know—nor did she know whom she waited for. Maybe it was all of them, each one.

Charlie and Percy emerged from upstairs, Percy wiping his glasses on the hem of his shirt. Charlie had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He looked at Ginny standing there in the middle of the room and his face contorted into an expression that was probably meant to be a smile, but it didn't quite make it.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, walking across the room.

"I don't know," she said. "Is Mum okay?"

"We're not really sure," Percy said, clearing his throat. He slid his glasses back up on his nose, walking over to Ginny and Charlie. He put a hand on Ginny's shoulder and she looked up at him for a moment. Whatever differences had split up the family in the past had long since vanished. Ginny threw her arms around Percy, and he, startled, hugged her back.

"Mum said she wanted to have dinner on the table for whenever Dad and the others get back," Charlie said. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. "I'd assume that would be any moment. They can't keep them forever. They've got to be exhausted. I doubt they'll want to eat when they get back. Those three especially—I bet they'll fall asleep at the table."

As if on cue, the door to the Burrow swung open. Arthur Weasley stepped in out of the rain, clearly having just arrived back outside the protective charms that had settled around the house.

"Dad," Ginny said, springing across the room to give her father a hug. Such a childish display was called for in times like these, in moments where sadness and celebration fought with each other for dominance. Arthur Weasley patted his daughter's back and kissed her on the forehead, stifling a yawn.

"Are the others on their way?" Charlie wondered.

"Yes, yes," the Weasley patriarch said, glancing toward the kitchen. "Is your mother in there?"

"Arthur, is that you?" Molly's voice called out from the kitchen. She appeared in the doorway, a wooden spoon in one hand, her wand in the other. She pressed the spoon hand to her chest and her eyes swam with tears as she approached her husband, leaning in for a tight hug and a kiss.

The door opened again and Ron came in, his hand hooked in Hermione's. The latter was shaking out her hair while Ron yawned hugely, rubbing his hand dramatically over his face.

"Ron!" his mother said breathlessly, rushing to hug her son, as if she hadn't expected him to come back whole, just from the Ministry of Magic. Perhaps she had imagined him more battered and broken. Or maybe she was simply being Molly Weasley. She planted a kiss on Ron's face and proceeded to attempt to wipe some residual dirt off of his face.

Ginny hugged a Hermione who looked dead on her feet. Dark circles had settled under her eyes and she flopped on the sitting room sofa. She wasn't going to make it to dinner. Ginny could already tell.

"Bill stayed back with Harry," Ron explained once he had wriggled free of his mother's spit-wet thumb.

"They have to let him come home soon," Molly said adamantly, putting her hands on her hips. Her spoon and her wand stuck out at odd angles. "The poor boy needs some sleep."

"Molly, he just defeated Voldemort," Arthur reminded her softly. "I think letting him sleep is the last thing on the minds of the Ministry. Bill's working on them though, and Kingsley's acting as interim Minister, so he should convince them to let him be soon enough. There will be time for interviews and explanations later."

"Well what have you heard?" Ginny said, glancing at her father, and then at her brother and Hermione. "Do you three have more of an explanation?"

"It's not for us to share, but for Harry to share," Hermione said from behind closed eyelids. "It's up to him to decide what to share with all of you and with the rest of the world."

"Agreed," Ron said, letting Hermione rest her head on his shoulder. He himself flopped toward the arm of the sofa.

Ginny let out a heavy puff of air, watching the door to the Burrow expectantly. She figured, if she looked at it long enough it was bound to open. As if on cue, she had barely counted to ten in her head before the door opened and Bill came in, ponytail wet from the rain. Following right behind was a bedraggled Harry Potter, his hair pressed into wet points on his forehead from the rain, eyes bloodshot. A million scratches and cuts marked his face and arms.

In an effort to sweep Bill and the hero into a hug at the same time, Mrs. Weasley nearly sent Ginny toppling to the ground.

"Oh Harry dear," she said, squeezing the dark-haired boy into a vice-like hug. "Let me heal some of those scrapes, would you?"

"That would be great, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said affectionately. He looked around at the room while Molly dried his hair with her wand. Ron and Hermione were both sleeping soundly on the sofa. Bill and Fleur were embracing in the door to the kitchen. Charlie and Percy both hovered by the fireplace, though Charlie had procured a tumbler of firewhiskey at some point. Mr. Weasley sat in one of the chairs, struggling against sleep himself. Ginny waited patiently for Harry's eyes to fall on her.

When they did, she felt a thousand questions bubble up in her throat. But she couldn't let any of them come out. This was the hero of the Wizarding World. He had just saved the lives of millions of people. He had saved not only the Wizarding World, but the Muggle world as well. In the end, though, he was still Harry.

He looked at her for a moment, green eyes pulsing behind his glasses. He looked torn for a moment, as if he couldn't choose between following Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen to be patched up or walking over to Ginny. Ginny's mother, however, was determined to heal the only awake person with formidable unhealed injuries. She seized Harry by the hand and started to the kitchen. Before they could disappear, however, Harry mouthed the word "Later."

Later. Again, Ginny was waiting. She felt like her life was waiting for Harry Potter, amazing as that was. She wasn't quite sure if she minded.

"Well, that's everyone," Arthur declared. "Bill, Charlie, Percy… George… Ron, Ginny… Harry and Hermione. Molly. Arthur. Fleur." The Weasley children who were not sleeping looked up at their father. The void that had been created in the absence of Fred's name pressed upon them as he attempted to fill it up with excess names.

Ginny simply turned away from them, heading back to the window.

-CD-

Harry sat in the chair of the Weasley's kitchen as Mrs. Weasley healed the cuts that marked up his face, hands and arms. He kept drifting in and out of sleep as she healed him up. Fleur had started chattering about anything she could think of, just to keep Mrs. Weasley lively and talking. Her melodic voice molded into the background of Harry's dreams. The smell of dinner was the only thing that kept Harry coming back from sleep.

The Ministry had been the most chaotic scene of his life. It was an odd setting. People were desperately trying to turn it back into the place it had been before the Death Eaters had taken over. Meanwhile, he, Ron and Hermione had been shunted from interviewer to interviewer, from Magical Law Enforcement officer, to various department heads and people who could make sense of what was going on, who functioned through the chaos.

Harry spent the most time sitting in Kingsley Shacklebolt's office in the auror department. He hadn't moved into the Minister's office. Instead, the Auror office had been cut off from the rest of the world so they wouldn't be interrupted. They sat there talking and talking. Kingsley said he could say as much or as little as he wanted and that he didn't have to decide what he wanted to share just yet. Harry had rambled. He wasn't sure what to say yet, and Ron and Hermione made it clear they weren't going to talk without obvious cues from him. So he figured the three of them could talk a little before anything was said and done.

Before Harry was finally allowed to go back to the Burrow, Kingsley asked if there was anything they could do for him for the next few days. Harry said he wanted full privacy for the Weasley family and a license to apparate. He was granted both without any questions. Just before he left, he thought of one last thing. He wanted immediate access to his vault at Gringotts so he could get to his gold if he needed it, when he needed it. That was also given to him.

"Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley's voice cut through a dream where he was flying over the Black Lake on the Hogwarts grounds. He jerked into reality, realizing he had drifted off and was slumped forward in his chair.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm exhausted."  
"Well would you like some supper before you head up to bed?" she wondered, ruffling his hair.

Harry couldn't decide if hunger or exhaustion was more powerful in his body at that moment.

"I could eat something, I suppose," he said.

"I think you should," she said. "And I'll probably wake Ron and Hermione. Merlin only knows when you last had a decent meal."

"It was the last night we spent at Grimmauld Place," Harry said, thinking of Kreacher. If he wasn't so tired, he would be doing something about that elf… It seemed so long ago that they had found their way into the Ministry of Magic to get Slytherin's locket from Dolores Umbridge.

Mrs. Weasley patted him on the shoulder and Harry turned around so that he was at least facing the table. If he drifted to sleep now, he would end up with his face on a dinner plate. When the rest of the family slumped in to sit down, even George joined them, a sullen expression on his face. He said nothing but simply ate in silence. Mrs. Weasley continued to sneak furtive glances at him, trying to assess his state of mind.

Harry, however sleepy, could not keep his eyes off someone else. Ginny sat across from him. Throughout the meal, he could feel her eyes flick up to look at him, away from her plate. When he would look up in response, she would be gazing at her food again as if something very interesting were written in the mashed potatoes and gravy. Instead of meeting her gaze, Harry examined the top of her head. It was a good top of the head. It was pretty, it was red.

He was getting tired. But he'd said "later" to her before he went into the kitchen. When was later? He supposed "later" had a lot of different means. It could mean five minutes, it could mean a couple of days. When he was younger, if he ever dared to ask the Dursleys a question, they would tend to reply with the answer that they would tell him "later." That later never came.

No matter how tired he was, or how hungry he was—he didn't seem quite able to get full—Harry was nearly positive that he wanted later to be that very moment every time he found himself fascinated by the top of her head.

But he wouldn't know what to say when later finally came. The world was a different place from the last time he and Ginny had been alone together. How could things go on when he himself was almost certainly a completely different person? He wasn't even sure he could function on a human level when so much of him felt foreign and so much the opposite of human.

He was lost in a dream state, hovering in a surreal cloud. So much of his brain wasn't processing. So much of him believed that everything he had just gone through hadn't actually happened. What was the next step in his life, now that the one thing he had always known he was meant for, was finished?

There was a small part of Harry that never believed he would ever beat Voldemort. That part of him took of his brain and stood in front of it, not allowing him to make future plans. In a rational world, he would have died battling Voldemort. But he lived in the Wizarding World and of all places, it certainly wasn't a rational world.

He glanced at Ginny again. This time, she looked back him, her warm, beautiful brown eyes locking his gaze. He wondered if he looked the same to her. He probably needed a haircut and a shave. In all honesty, he probably really needed a shower of all things. Underneath all that lurked the same gawky twelve-year-old that once flustered an eleven-year-old Ginny so much that she put her elbow in the butter dish. He wondered if she could see past all the hero stuff, the dirty stuff, the layer of Harry Potter that had built up over the old ones.

There were many layers of him, he supposed. She had never given thought to them before, whether they were gawky, ignorant, angry, unsympathetic, hateful, stupid, cruel, sad, or all of the good, kind ones… So what was another layer of hero?

She didn't look as if she had anything to say; if she did, she wasn't going to say it then, at a silent table in front of the rest of the family. She held her tongue, but her eyes told him that later was sooner. He knew she would let him sleep if he wanted to, but there was no avoiding Ginny Weasley. Which was fine with Harry. He never actually wanted to avoid her anyway.

Even looking at her, into the depths of those brown eyes, Harry felt his eyelids drooping. Not wanting to give her the wrong idea, he glanced down at his plate, which seemed more full than he last remembered it to be (He didn't know it, but whenever he looked up, Mrs. Weasley would levitate food out of the serving trays and onto his, Ron's and Hermione's plates). At this rate, he was never going to finish. But it wasn't as if he was sure he wanted to. Real food, for the first time in so long.

"This beats mushrooms any day," Ron said, elbowing Hermione teasingly. She was so tired she burst into a fit of laughter that was almost inappropriate for the somber mood that had taken over the table. But then Harry was laughing too. He couldn't even remember a moment when mushrooms had even been funny before, but that didn't matter. The entire rest of the table didn't even know what was going on, but they couldn't keep themselves from laughing. Even George joined in.

In the end, everything seemed so trivial in comparison to what had happened at Hogwarts. The world was a completely different place, and yet everything was supposed to function as normal. There was an odd film on all of their memories, so much that it was ludicrous. It was ludicrous to the point of laughter. Whatever the laughter evoked in each of them, be it Harry, or Mr. Weasley, or Fleur or George or Percy, they were all amazed at the fact that they were all sitting there at that moment.


	2. I Don't Know

**Chapter 2: I Don't Know**

Rationality would have said that Ginny would fall asleep as soon as she got into bed. In fact, it was quite the contrary. She lay sprawled on her bed in the dark, listening to Hermione's breathing from the cot nearby. Ginny had her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Outside, the rain had stopped. An eerie silence had settled around the house. Even the wind had quit its steady gusting. Instead of the rain, a heavy, humid heat had dropped like a damp blanket. Coated in a fine sheen of sweat, Ginny had long since thrown off her sheet. It was too warm for May.

She slid one leg carefully out of the bed, stepping onto the floor. The second leg followed shortly and she tiptoed around Hermione's cot toward the door. Trying to make so little noise—her mother's bat ears would hear the slightest creak of the floor or the stairs—Ginny made her way cautiously down the hallway to the stairs. There wasn't a light on in the house, but she could have navigated it perfectly with no problem even if she closed her eyes. She counted the steps in her head, skipping over the particularly loud fifth step that would groan at the slightest pressure.

There was a light on in the Burrow's kitchen. It was a singular light, a pale yellow glow. She figured her mum was probably up, crying over something. Ginny didn't blame her. If Ginny herself cried a bit more she would be unable to stop the flow of tears over Fred's death. As it was, Ginny had never been much of a crier. She left that to her mum.

Entering the kitchen, Ginny stopped. It wasn't her mum, in fact, but Harry. He sat at the kitchen table, examining a turkey sandwich on a plate in front of him. He leaned his head into one hand, not hearing Ginny as she entered. It was an odd sight. The kitchen was still and silent, even with Harry sitting there. The solitary light lit up his figure, a golden glow radiating from his silhouette.

"Why are you up?" she asked softly. Harry jumped at the sound of her voice, spinning on the spindly wooden kitchen chair to look at her.

"Why are you up?" he returned. He looked tired. The dark circles under his eyes had not left his face.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, walking over to the stove to put on the tea kettle.

"Me neither," he said, glancing back at his chicken sandwich. "I'm tired but I can't sleep." He glanced at her and she turned around by the stove, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He looked haggard. His hair was a mess as there were faint lines from the various scrapes that had taken over his face. He had stripped off layers, so he sat there in just a slightly dirty white t-shirt and jeans, elbows on the well-worn tabletop.

Ginny assessed him for a moment. She wasn't quite sure what to say. So much of her wanted nothing more than to walk over to Harry, put her arms around him and hold him. He looked like he needed that, like he needed the comfort of someone who wouldn't demand any explanation. Oh she wanted thousands of explanations, but she wasn't going to ask him for them.

Sitting there, at the table, he looked like that Harry Potter she had always been in love with. He looked young, innocent, and so much not the hero who had just been through the nightmare of a lifetime, the victory of a lifetime. He was handsome as ever, of course. If it wasn't for the sleepless looks, the injuries, she would say they were back in her fifth year, about to go for a nice walk out by the lake.

Ginny bit her lip. There was so much she wanted to say and so few ways to say all of them. She knew this probably wasn't the time or place for any of it, but she didn't know when that time would actually come. Maybe it would never be appropriate.

"You really need sleep," she said, knowing those were perhaps the last words he wanted to hear. He looked at her, not saying anything. Instead, he picked half-heartedly at his turkey sandwich. Next to Ginny, the tea kettle whistled shrilly. She grabbed it, pulling two tea cups out of the cupboard. Turning her back to him, she started preparing the tea.

When she turned back around, he was sitting more upright at the table. She set one cup of tea in front of him, watching the steam billow up into the air. He looked at her.

"Thank you," he said simply, pulling the cup toward himself.

"Sugar? Cream?" she questioned.

He shook his head and she sat down at one of the other chairs, sliding it across the floor toward him.

"Is it later yet?" she asked simply. She didn't look at his face. Instead she focused on his left hand. It sat on the table top, nicked with scratches and scrapes, some scabbing over. He had dirt impacted under his fingernails. He kept flexing and unflexing his fingers, as if he didn't know quite what to do with them at that moment.

"I don't know," he said. "Is it later?" He caught her gaze then, green eyes lit up behind his glasses. The yellow light reflected in his eyes, sparkling like flecks of gold leaf.

"I don't know," she said, reaching out very carefully. She slid her fingers into his, hooking them together. He froze at the gesture originally but then softened, tightening his fingers around hers. His hands were rougher than she remembered, but she supposed it had been a while and so much had happened since the last time they had twisted their fingers together. It was okay though.

"Everything's different," he said, looking at their clasped hands.

"Harry…" she said. "Maybe everything _is _different. But life is going to keep going on."

"There is so much I have to do in the next few days…" he said, shaking his head. "And I can't even sleep."

"Come on," she said, standing up. She towed him with her, out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, sitting down on the sofa. He looked more comfortable there. Ginny watched him for a moment, unsure still what the right words were. She slid one arm around him and he leaned his head onto her shoulder.

"I've missed you," he said, taking a deep breath. His eyes drifted shut as he spoke. Ginny leaned her head against his. Maybe words weren't the right thing now. Maybe he just needed an arm around him, someone to support him, comfort him, remind him that, no matter what had happened he was still Harry Potter and there were still people in this world who cared so much about him.

"Harry," she said softly, her voice a light whisper as he stretched out, making himself comfortable next to her. "Harry, I have never stopped loving you."

She wasn't sure he'd heard her, for as he soon as he let his eyes drift closed, he had fallen into instant, heavy sleep. His breathing lengthened and deepened and Ginny stretched out carefully too, leaning against the arm of the sofa for support. Maybe it was the subtle reminder that there was something in this life to hold onto, a bright spot when all other lights went out, maybe it was that idea that gently lulled them into sleep.

-CD-

"Shh, shh, don't wake them," Mrs. Weasley beseeched gently, her voice barely above a whisper. Ginny stirred gently at the words but didn't open her eyes. She listened to people moving around them. From the kitchen, she could hear Hermione and Fleur's voices, the sound of forks and spoons on dishware. Closer by was Mr. Weasley's voice.

"But Molly, he, Harry and Hermione need to go back to the Ministry," Mr. Weasley said kindly.

"It's probably the first night's sleep he's gotten in a great long time," Mrs. Weasley said mournfully. "The least the Ministry can do for him is let him sleep."

"Hermione and I will go back," Ginny heard Ron's voice over the rest. "Harry can join us later. Merlin knows he's been through a bit. I mean, we all have, but… Mum's right, it's the least the Ministry can do."

"Alright, alright," Mr. Weasley said. "Send him along when he wakes up."

"Does anyone else sort of want to hex his hand off right now?" Charlie's voice echoed through all of them.

"I do," Ron said, and Ginny could hear Bill's grunt of agreement.

Confused by what they meant, Ginny fluttered her eyelids open. Since falling asleep, she and Harry had changed positions somewhat. She was lying in front of him now, back pressed against his chest. His arms were around her. It didn't take long for Ginny to figure out what was wrong in her older brothers' eyes: Harry's right hand was very close to her breast.

"Oh, Ginny, you're awake," her mum whispered as Ginny tried to move without stirring Harry. She slipped out from under his arms, practically rolling onto the floor. She stood up completely and turned to face her mum.

"I am," Ginny said, pushing her hair out of her face. "Neither of us could sleep last night…"

"Yes, yes," her mum said, waving a hand as if no explanation was necessary. "Come on, come get some breakfast dear." Molly put an arm around her youngest child and pulled her in for a tight hug. In the days and weeks following the Battle of Hogwarts, Molly Weasley would become very fond of hugging everyone who was close to her heart at any opportunity she got.

Ginny felt refreshed. She hadn't slept so comfortably in many long nights. There was too much to worry about before. While the pain of Fred's death hung like a spike right around her heart and lungs, there was an odd peace knowing that they would be able to sleep at night now without worrying that they would wake up in the morning and someone close to them would be gone.

She glanced down at Harry's still sleeping form. His glasses were hanging off his face, his hair sticking up in all directions. Maybe Ginny would help him cut his hair later, if he wanted. She was fairly decent at it. In fact, she used to help her mum cut her brothers' hair, even when she was very little.

With the way she felt now, she wasn't sure she would ever make it back to sleep without him sleeping next to her.

-CD-

Harry apparated just outside the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. He was freshly showered, dressed in Muggle clothes with a black Hogwarts robe over the top of all of it. Before he had even stepped two steps into the atrium, a swarm of flashbulbs and smoke enveloped him. Reporters swarmed around him.

"Mr. Potter, the _Daily Prophet_ wants to know—what was the secret to Lord Voldemort's demise?"

"No comment," Harry said hurriedly, attempting to elbow through the crowd. He tried to look over the heads of the reporters, to find some sort of support or rescue from the crowd of crazy people around him. He wasn't giving interviews. Not yet. There were other things to deal with before any of that.

"Harry Potter, _Witch Weekly _readers want to know—is there a special woman in your life?"

"Leave me alone," Harry barked, pulling his wand out of his pocket. He addressed all of the writers and reporters and photographers. "Leave me alone, everyone. Please. I promise interviews in due time, but for Merlin's sake give me some space. I need to speak with the Minister of Magic and sort out a few things before I release anything. Now if you would excuse me, there are more important things to do than shout 'no comment' at you lot for an hour."

He pushed through them aggressively, though they didn't fight back. He was sure the _Prophet _would have loads to say about his angry outburst, but he was finding that he didn't care very much at all. He just wanted them to leave him alone.

"Harry," the sonorous voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt greeted him once he made it deeper into the atrium. The interim Minister was standing by, overseeing the removal of the horrible structure of a wizard sitting on a throne made of Muggles. Harry shuddered at the sight, spotting Ron and Hermione nearby, speaking with Mafalda Hopkirk—who, incidentally, Hermione had impersonated through Polyjuice Potion less than a year ago.

"Hi, Kingsley," Harry said. "Sorry it took me so long to get over here."

"Not at all," Kingsley said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Ron and Hermione told me you were sleeping in this morning and I certainly agreed that you deserved it."

"There are a lot of things to go over," Harry said. "And I have a lot I need to do. I need to see if my house elf survived… I need to go to the bank… I should probably find my aunt and uncle… and then I need to go see Teddy Lupin. Not to mention all of the funerals I have to go to…"

"There will be time for all of it, Harry," Kingsley said. "There's no rush on anything you have to say to me, so if you must duck out at any time to do any of those things, please don't hesitate to ask. Why don't you and I head to my office with Ron and Hermione—I have the actual Minister's office today."

Harry waved Ron and Hermione over. The two walked with their fingers lightly hooked together, leaving Mafalda there to help vanish the horrid statue. They looked well-rested, or at least more rested than they had been in the past few days. Hermione had a large cut on her forehead that was scabbing over. Ron's arms were very bruised. Harry was sure that the three of them as a pair looked like they had been through a war—and they had.

"Get a good night's sleep?" Hermione asked Harry, her concerned mother look taking off. The three of them had spent so long looking after each other that it had simply become second nature.

"Eventually," Harry said. "I didn't get to sleep until about two in the morning. Did you two get some sleep?"  
"A good amount," Ron said. "I didn't even undress. I just fell on my bed."

"I noticed," Harry said, laughing a little. "We have some things to go over with Kingsley, I think."

"Oh, I know," Hermione said, smiling. "I think we have several things to go over. Many things."

"Always clarifying," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

Harry couldn't help but smile at the pair of them. There was just something about them. Maybe, if he'd thought about it, he might have been able to see this coming long before they had, before sixth year when it all came to the surface. If he looked back at it, there were some parts of Hermione and Ron's past that made it very clear they were simply destined to be together. In a sense, as polar opposites, they balanced each other out.

Once, he had thought it might get rough if they started dating. He thought he would turn into a third wheel, and if they broke up, he would be left having to take sides in the most painful disagreement of the century. Now, after all that they had been through as a trio, he didn't really care. As long as they got this happiness, whether it lasted thirty seconds or a thousand years, Harry would let them have it. No matter what went on between the two of them, they would always have so much to share that no one and nothing could really drive them apart. You can't defeat Voldemort together without staying friends.

As the three of them headed to the Minister's office, following on Kingsley's heels, Harry took in the world around him. Since the day before, the Ministry was already much closer to resembling the place it had been before Voldemort had taken it over. For one thing, of course, there was the absence of posters bearing Harry's face and the words "Undesirable No. 1," the likes of which had plastered the gleaming stones during Voldemort's control. Not only that, however, but also the reinstatement of old decorations, the removal of some people's names off office doors who had only gained their positions through Voldemort's doing. The place was turning back to its former glory—hopefully back to the days of Milicent Bagnold, bypassing the somewhat less admirable years of Cornelius Fudge.

The again, Harry figured he would never like Fudge again after his fifth year. Maybe he hadn't been a bad Minister. Harry just would never remember him that way.

The Minister's Office was on the same level as the atrium, down a long hallway, past many other offices. The door swung open on its own accord when Kingsley approached, and a witch sitting in the little room outside the main office looked up as they entered.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked kindly to all of them, not just Kingsley.

"If you could get my friends some tea, Ariadne, it would be much appreciated," Kingsley, walking through a second door. The office beyond was fairly empty, due to its recent change of hands. Two comfortably cushioned chairs sat in front of the big wooden desk, behind which was a high-backed leather chair. Kingsley waved his wand, producing a third identical cushioned chair next to the first two. The three sat down in them together.

"I'm not exactly sure where to begin here," Harry said.

"Why don't you begin with the basics?" Kingsley suggested as he dropped himself into his chair, his amethyst robes contrasting with the black leather.

"Well…" Harry said. "I suppose I could explain the technicality that allowed me to defeat Voldemort…"

"That would be a good idea," Kingsley said. "Just to clear everything up."

"Have you ever heard of the Elder Wand?" Harry asked.

"The Elder Wand?" Kingsley questioned, putting the tips of his large, long fingers together. He assessed the trio with his dark eyes. "Yes I've heard of it."

Harry looked at the other two for a moment. "Well… the story sort of begins there then…"


End file.
